“Soooo. You want breakfast?”
Alan sounded just a bit jittery, and I smiled to settle his alarm, but wasn’t sure my show of teeth had the desired effect. “Sure. Bring me a rasher of pepper bacon cut thick, a half dozen scrambled eggs, and a stack of pancakes with blueberry compote, extra butter, and that blueberry syrup I like. And a whole pot of tea.”
Alan covered his surprise at the quantity of food better than he’d covered his dismay. “You bet,” he said, backing away from the table.
I stared around the balcony, not seeing anything, ignoring the couple seated two tables down, thinking, trying to let the anger of possible betrayal dissipate until I knew more. Ricky Bo might be sending me a message by breakfasting here, though what significance there was to bringing a date to our favorite breakfast spot, and breaking a breakfast date with me to do it, I didn’t know. He wasn’t stupid, so it had to be deliberate, which meant that it had to do with his work, something he was trying to say without saying it. But so many things were out of place in my life all at once, it was hard to see only one piece of the bigger picture. I had to wonder how many of the little oddities taking place were really part of a larger, about to be screwed-up whole.
CHAPTER 7
A Lot of Hooey
Hands in pockets, I walked back to my rental house, taking the long way through the Quarter. The smells of New Orleans changed with the time of day, the tides, and the seasons. Early on a summer day, the prevalent scent mélange was composed of the omnipresent exhaust, the smell of the Mississippi flowing on the other side of the levee, flowering plants and vines in the flower boxes and minigardens beside and behind every building, chicory coffee, beignets, cigarettes, the smell of sex, the smell of bars open twenty-four/seven, and last night’s beer, wine, and liquor, along with urine and vomit left by revelers, though the business owners and the city did a good job of washing away the worst of that.
Though Beast’s sense of smell was far superior to mine, I had a better nose than most humans, probably left over from the years I’d spent solely in Beast-form, and the stench was intense and full flavored. It was something I loved about the city. The incredible heat and humidity were a lot less appreciated, and I started to sweat within a block of the restaurant, perspiration gathering on my arms, torso, legs, trickling down my spine, and oddly enough, beading on my upper lip, which was something new. I’d noticed locals sweating that way. Maybe I was starting to fit in.
As I walked, I thought about all the weird things that had happened, arranging them in a sensible order that might show me the whole picture, something that combined the appearance of weres across the world, werewolves in New Orleans, Leo sending me to deal with a nonhuman who then saved me from weres. That same nonhuman pulling a bait and switch on Leo with the wolves—which nearly got me killed—and then set a find-me charm on me. Last, wolves and a big-cat on Beast’s hunting ground. It was obvious that weres were the key to everything, but did not explain Gee, or why Rick might bring a date to the Royal Street Café. I resisted the urge to call him, but checked my phone. No voice or text messages. Nothing.
I had the house to myself when I got back, and nuked a mug of tea while I called my backup for the night. Derek Lee answered on the first ring. “Yo, Injun Princess. Whatchu need?”
“Duuuude,” I said in an affected surfer-girl twang. He laughed. I laughed. Pleasantries were done. I launched in to the night’s needs, which were muscle-and-weapon security, and hi-tech electronic security.
Derek knew his business. He was an ex-marine with two tours in Afghanistan and one in Iraq during his time in. About five minutes after meeting him I had realized he was more than a grunt. The man had skills and panache that seemed a lot more specialized than the other guys in his unofficial little army. “Weapons?” he asked.
“Silver rounds, stakes, vamp-killers. Weres seem to have the same kind of silver allergy as vamps.”
“How many men?”
“If I was hiring cops, two dozen. With your guys, maybe half that.”
“I can get six. Guys I trust. Guys who can each do the work of two or three.”
Six guys with the level of training Derek was talking about, on such notice? Alarm stole over me on little kitten feet. Softly, I asked, “You raising an army, Derek Lee?”
“Nothing to worry your pretty little Cherokee head about.”
“I wouldn’t want to have to fight you, Derek.”
“Not to worry, Princess. And not to stick your nose into.”
I was silent a moment, then breathed my irritation out into the cell phone. “Don’t kill anyone tonight unless you have to.” Derek laughed and clicked off. I stared at the phone for a long moment before going back to work.
While the laptop booted up, I pulled out research papers. I had photocopies of one entire file cabinet from the woo-woo room in NOPD, courtesy of the last investigation I’d done. Cops didn’t let civilians have access to their files without very good reasons, and I recognized the honor and the trust that had led Jodi Richoux to send them to me. I kept the papers in boxes, padlocked in the bedroom closet with my weapons and other gear.